


Festival of Lights

by babsalone



Category: Bastion (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Holiday, Nonverbal Communication, Religion, Sign Language, Worldbuilding, mostly worldbuilding with a little shipping, post evacuation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babsalone/pseuds/babsalone
Summary: The Bastion sails on, and it's not long until the crew finds new life, a town full of people who speak only with their hands. The townsfolk show the four a new festival and a new way of life.
Relationships: The Kid/Zia (Bastion)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Festival of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> belated merry christmas to tumblr user ohnomybreadsticks! here's your pinch hitter gift for the sgg secret santa 19, i hope you have as much fun reading this as i had writing it

They haven’t traveled long before they find new people. The lands of the Wilds spoke of destruction, but as the Bastion sails, she shows not everywhere was touched by the cruel hand of the Calamity. In a valley shadowed by tall mountains, mountains worshipped for their protection, resides a small town. The Bastion touches down, and the four of them find a place bubbling over with life. As Zia, Zulf, Rucks, and the Kid enter the town, they are greeted by a group of survivors, plump and smiling.

Zulf steps forward. ‘Hello,’ he says with a bow.

One of the survivors, an older man, tan and dark-haired, makes a flurry of motion with his hands.

‘Do you speak Cael? Oda Yura shasheh?’

The man shakes his head and does more motions with his hands. The Kid makes an excited noise and comes forward. He makes his own motions, and the two go back and forth for a while.

‘What are they saying?’ Zia whispers to Rucks. Rucks was the Kid’s interpreter. Zia and Zulf had learned a little sign from their time with Kid, but he spoke quickly and strangely, with stilted words and poor grammar, so Rucks did a majority of the translating.

‘Kid’s tellin’ him ‘bout how we all got here,’ Rucks answers. Cuttin’ out the… unimportant parts, though. They don’t need to know about Zulf’s little mishap.’

Zulf huffs at ‘little mishap’ but doesn’t fight it. They all have to get along, in some way or another. Zulf has to choose his battles now.

The Kid returns, bright-eyed and with a bounce in his step. He and Rucks sign quickly to each other for a moment, then Rucks turns to Zia and Zulf. ‘Kid says these fine people are welcoming us in. All of them sign; say they follow an Old God, Yashe, the Goddess of Silence and Words. They’re all forbidden from speaking. Us outsiders can, though. There’s a festival tonight they’d like us to join. Called the Festival of Lights. S’pose you all would be interested?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Zia agrees. ‘What do we do during it?’

‘Eat some good food, set some lights. Sing. Dunno how they’ll pull off that last one. The Man’s name is Olwar. Says he wants to show us around town, so we best be headin’ out.’

The four of them follow Olwar and the small party with him through the town. The town is small, cozy, with brightly colored houses crowded close to one another. People lean out their windows and doors to watch them go. Their clothes are Cael-styled but Ura-colored, with loose frocks accented with blues and reds and golds. The people themselves are tan and sun-kissed, with their dark hair worn long or pulled back. It’s as if Ura and Caels converged here and made something new, a mix of both but clearly their own. People wave from the windows and call out, a sound free from words but excited all the same. They wave back and repeat the excited noises. A few children race out from a house with a picket fence and rush over to them. One little boy, his long hair braided, his eyes a vibrant green, runs over to Zia and jumps and waves to her. Zia laughs and waves back. The boy signs something to her. Zia doesn’t know what it means, so she settles on smiling, and that seems to work well enough.

As the group goes on, Olwar points and gestures to things around town and signs to the Kid. The Kid signs back, and they go like that the whole way through, signing and laughing. On more than one occasion, Olwar claps the Kid on the back. Zia’s never seen the Kid get along so quickly with someone new; he was normally quiet, withdrawn, but now, he’s as chatty as he’s ever been. Rucks siddles up beside her and Zulf.

‘He’s takin’ us to the temple,’ Rucks tells them. ‘Seems these folks are mighty religious. Zulf should get along well with ‘em.’

Zulf says nothing to that. They continue on until they reach a large building with tall, swirling spires and a bell hanging from a tower in the middle. The bell rings and the people come out of their buildings and head towards the temple. Children run and laugh with adults following close behind, and they file into the temple, Zia and her group following suit. The temple is white stone with stained glass shining in its windows. Large tapestries of red and gold hang down, with images of a woman Zia can only assume is Yashe. The temple is free from chairs, but has a number of pillows laid out across the floor surrounding a circular raised platform in the middle. The townsfolk come in and kneel in front of the platform, with the youngest in the front and the oldest in the back. Zia, Zulf, the Kid, and Rucks kneel in the back on extra pillows. The people sign to each other, but stop once a squat man comes to the center of the platform. He's dressed in a long robe of a deep red with a gold lining. 

The squat man gestures towards the Bastion crew. Zia waves, for lack of anything better to do, as do the rest of them. The townsfolk wave back. The man claps his hands and the people turn their attention back to him. The service starts, and the man leads it with gusto, throwing up his hands, clapping, and crying out wordlessly. Even though Zia can't understand his signing, she can feel the passion from them. She glances over at the Kid and his eyes are wide and his mouth is open. The Kid's never been the religious type, but now he seems entranced by the sermon. All of them are, but there's a special understanding the Kid has of the man's words.

Is this what home feels like for him? On the Bastion, only Rucks could fully understand him. Zia had picked up some sign, and Zulf more so, but conversations with him were pretty one-sided. Ura had taken its place, but Zia wasn't much versed in that, either. Just as she regretted not knowing more Ura among the Ura, she regrets not knowing more sign among signers. The Kid looks so happy to be among people who understand him. Will he want to stay? Zia's always wanted to be among people who understood her. And she found that on the Bastion, four misfits who made a home. But maybe the Kid doesn't want to be a misfit anymore; maybe he wants to be among people who can understand him in a way Zia and the others can't. Maybe… 

The people stand up, and Zia doesn't have any more time to think about it. The man bows, and the people bow back, and they all leave the temple. 

'Wasn't that something?' Zulf says once they've left the temple. 'Even without words, he had such a command over the crowd. Now that was a sermon.'

'Just like I said, Zulf would get along with these fine people mighty well,' Rucks says.

'Well… I suppose you were right,' Zulf mumbles. Zulf admitting Rucks was right? Now that's a first. 'Perhaps we should stay here for a few days. I'm curious to see what else is around here.'

'Can't say no to that,' Rucks agrees. 'Kid? Zia?'

The Kid claps his hands and jumps up and down. Zia doesn’t think she’s seen the Kid so excited about something in the entire time she’s known him. If it makes him that happy, she certainly can’t say no. She nods her agreement and Zulf smiles.

‘It’s settled then,’ he says. ‘It’ll be nice to have a break from the Bastion. Rucks, could you tell Olwar we’d like to stay for a little?’

Rucks nods and heads over to Olwar, who’s outside the temple, talking to a group of older women. Rucks and he sign back and forth for a little, then Rucks returns.

‘Olwar says he’d like to have us around for a few days. Says they can fix up some rooms for us, too. He wants to show us around town.’

Olwar comes over to them, then motions to the four to follow him. They walk through town, with Olwar signing as he goes and Rucks interpreting for Zia and Zulf. Zia only half listens, instead focusing on taking in the surroundings. All around them, everything is splashed with color, from the brightly colored doors on the houses to the laundry drying on lines set up between them. The large mountains surrounding the valley cast a shadow over the town, but a bit of sunlight still peeks through. People watch them move through doors and windows, curious but not wary. More than one person stops them as they go and signs to Olwar, most likely asking for more information on who they are. The Kid takes over Zulf’s diplomatic role and retells the story of how they got here. It makes the day drag on, but half of that is just because Zia can’t understand what he’s saying.

Again, she wonders if this is how the Kid feels. A stranger among peers, a forced silence because his words must be translated. How long will they stay here? How long will Zia be quiet, unable to speak with those around her?

How long will she be silent around the Kid?

Dwelling on that does nothing. Instead, Zia focuses her attention back to the group. They arrive in front of a massive stone statue of a long haired woman covering her mouth with her hands. The statue is intricately detailed, with her robes rubbed to look like silk, her loose hairs chiseled out finely, gemstones inlaid in her wrists and around her neck. Rucks interprets Olwar’s explanation:

Many generations ago, there was a terrible storm over the valley. It lasted for days, until lightning struck a huge boulder and carved out the statue. The statue spoke to a young man and told him of invaders that were coming to raze the town. She named herself Yashe, Goddess of Silence and Words, and said if the whole town were to hide and stay quiet, they would escape unharmed. The boy told the town of Yashe’s words, and the townsfolk were unsure, but followed her command. That night, they hid in their houses, silent as the eye of the storm, and foreign men came through the town. They overturned carts and dug through stores, but the people were quiet, so they went unnoticed. The townsfolk survived. They went to the statue to pray, and Yashe imbued them all with the knowledge of sign, and told them if they were to cease speaking, she would protect the town for as long as she stood.

A hush falls over everyone after the story. Could a Goddess really do something like that? Zia’s never been the religious type, and found most of the religious stories to be questionable. Not that she’d ever tell Zulf that. But the town was protected from the Calamity, something few places could say. Well, it wasn’t really her place to decide. She wasn’t Zia’s Goddess, afterall. Olwar signs something to Rucks, and Rucks turns back to Zia and Zulf.

‘Olwar says he’d like to show us the market. Get us prepared for the festival. Whaddya say we go check it out?’

Zia and Zulf nod; the five of them continue on. Zia gravitates towards the Kid. He seems… happy, happy in a way she hasn’t seen before. She wants to be near that happiness, share that happiness. But how? She doesn’t know how to speak to him. She thinks of holding his hand, then quickly pushes away the thought. There’s no sense in holding anyone’s hand. But then she wonders if holding hands is like a kiss to him, is like pressing mouth to mouth, and her whole face blooms red. Oh, no, she definitely can’t think of that. Zia crosses her arms to keep her hands from getting any wise ideas. The Kid notices, and turns to look at her. He points to her cheeks and makes a questioning noise.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she mutters, face growing even redder. She looks away, to anything else, and her eyes fall on Zulf. Zulf is grinning like a buffoon. Zia doesn’t think her face can get any redder now. She hurries ahead until she’s next to Olwar, and nods as he signs, as if she knows what he’s saying.

The sun has started its descent as they reach a large market square. It won’t be long until the sun will dip below the horizon, and the moon and stars will make their way up the sky. There are many stalls lining the paths, with sellers inside the stalls banging drums and waving chiming instruments to get the attention of those walking by. People go from stall to stall and buy food and goods, laughing and signing to each other. They all wear robes of red with gold patterns on them and gold strings spun through their hair. Olwar leads them to a shop with gowns and busts in the window. He ushers them in and they find the wall lined with red robes, and a grey-haired woman sorting through them. Olwar comes up to her, signs some things, then gestures to the rest of the group.

‘Olwar is sayin’ he wants Maren here to outfit us in some festival fixins,’ Rucks explains. ‘Says he wants us to really experience the Festival of Lights. On the house, too, along with all the food we can eat.’

The Kid claps. There’s few things he likes more than food. Maren eyes everyone up and down, then grabs a robe off the wall for each of them. They take turns changing behind a curtain, and once they’re done, the whole crew is decked out in red and gold. Maren strings gold through their hair, and soon they look as natural as all the townsfolk do. The Kid keeps his red bandana on, as he always does. Zia keeps her hair down and loose for the event, and she catches the Kid’s eye sliding over to her repeatedly, his face as red as his robes. Zia can’t help but go a little red, too; it might be too scandalous to have her hair down. But no one else seems to mind, so she clears her mind of it. Maybe the Kid grows red about something else.

They head back outside, and the first purples of dusk are shooting across the sky. In the center of the square, the chairs and benches have been moved to be in a circle around a stage. On the stage, a group of men play different instruments, thumping and drumming and blowing out a sweet song. People sit and eat on the benches or dance by the stage, and an excited energy thrums through the town. Paper lanterns hang on strings by lampposts and glow with flickering candles inside. Even as the sky grows darker, the lights keep the whole place aglow.

Zia turns to the Kid. ‘Do you want to get food?’ she asks.

The Kid nods and they head to the stalls. Because Zia can’t sign and the Kid doesn’t speak, it’s difficult getting by. So she just gets whatever the Kid gets, and soon her hands are full of different kinds of eats. Meat and vegetables on skewers, fried fruits, balls of bread stuffed with sweet mashed roots. They find a bench by the stage and set to eating, stuffing themselves full of the foreign feast.

‘This is really good!’ Zia chirps between bites. It’s hard to eat just one, so she takes different bites off all of them.

The Kid nods his agreement, happily munching on his own food. Zia tries to remember some of the sign Rucks taught her. It’s not much, but he did show her a few things. Zia makes the sign for ‘good’ across her chest, and the Kid’s eyes immediately light up. He makes an excited noise and bounces up and down. Zia can’t help but grin.

‘You really like it here, huh?’ she says. The Kid nods and takes another bite of his food. She pauses and bites her lip. ‘Do you want… to stay here?’

The Kid is finally among people who understand him, who can speak to and with him. It’s only been a few months since they took off on the Bastion, followed the wind and stars; Zia thought they’d travel for years, maybe forever, before they found other people. But here there are, in a place bursting with life and love, a place with people who welcomed them so openly. Zia doesn’t want to stay; there’s still too much to see out there, too many possibilities. But if the Kid wants to stay here… would they all stay here, too? Would they settle down, learn to speak with their hands, accept their silence?

Would they leave him behind and go out on their own?

Before the Kid can answer, there’s a great commotion by the stage. Zia and the Kid turn to it, and find the squat man from the temple in the center. He cries out to the crowd, and they return his cry. He starts a rhythmic clap with his hands, and the crowd follows suit, Zia and the Kid joining in. The musicians start a rousing beat, and the squat man dances around in time to it. He twirls and spins, his feet ever moving, and does a few flips, much to the delight of the crowd. Just as the music reaches its crescendo, it stops abruptly. There’s a long silence, then the man opens his mouth, and a noise like Zia’s never heard comes from it, wordless but powerful all the same. It’s a low reverberation, something that comes from the back of his throat, and it carries out over the crowd. The music starts up again, and people leave their seats to dance around the stage. Zia and Kid follow suit, and move in time with the music. Everyone hoots and hollers, and Zia can’t help but do it, too. Beside herself with giddiness, she takes the Kid’s hand and pulls him towards her. Grabbing his other one, she pulls him forward and back, swings his arms from side to side. The Kid is stiff at first, then relaxes, and follows her movements where they take him. The singing dies down with one last croak, and the music stops. A raucous clapping rings out from the crowd, everyone crying out joyously. Zia looks down at her hand in the Kid’s then up to his face, which is burning red but grinning. Zia’s face must be the same. She leans in, then jerks back. No, no, she can’t do that here, not in front of everyone. She drops his hand and looks anywhere but at him.

People start filing out of the square. Zulf and Rucks come over to them, both of them looking equal parts smug and pleased. Oh, they probably saw Zia and the Kid holding hands. They don’t need to have that expression. Jerks.

‘Time for the light show,’ Rucks says. ‘Olwar says there’s something that’ll really knock our socks off. Come to the top of the hill with us.’

They all head out of the square and towards a large hill. Zia glances at the Kid, and she can’t quite read the expression on his face. She hopes she didn’t mess anything up. Her relationship with the Kid is… complicated. He brought up feelings she had long since stashed away, feelings she promised herself she’d never explore again. Last time only ended in anguish. But the Kid… he’s not like that. He saved her, he searched for her. He faced danger and death, just for her. But oh, it’s so complicated. What if he doesn’t like her back? What if he wanted their relationship to be friends, close friends, friends who never held hands. Or if he didn’t… what if they broke up? The awkwardness of a break up would be bad enough, but what if it was messy? What if she broke his heart completely? Or he hers? There’s just the four of them on the Bastion, and little room on it; they certainly couldn’t avoid one another. This could only lead to problems.

Zia groans and shakes her head. She’s getting ahead of herself here. Right now, all there is is to focus on the light show. The moon is full and the stars are bright, and the glowing lanterns illuminate the path they walk. Soon, they reach the top of the hill. From here, Zia can see the whole valley, make out glinting rivers reflecting the light of the sky above. It really is something. People sit in groups, signing to each other and pointing up at the stars. Rucks and Zulf sit with plenty of room for Zia and the Kid, but the Kid takes Zia by the wrist and leads her away. Just where does he want to go? He takes her off to the side, to a place still high on the hill but away from everyone else. They sit next to each other, their shoulders nearly touching. Zia’s heart thumps wildly in her chest, and she takes a deep breath to calm it. Don’t overthink this, don’t overthink this. Just relax and wait for the show.

And they don’t have to wait for long. There’s a long silence, and then an earth shaking boom; something whistles as it flies through the sky before exploding into a burst of colors. The Kid yells and claps his hands. Another boom, another whistle, and more colors. Some are green and fizzly, some slow and gold. There are pops of red and blue, little blips of colors so vibrant but so quickly fading. The lights trickles down and disappear, leaving sparkles in their wake. Zia claps wildly and stamps her feet as excitement courses through her. This is greater than she could have ever imagined. She turns to the Kid, and the joy on his face is nothing like she’s seen from him before. Something she won’t name wells up in her chest, and before she can think better of it, she takes his hand in her own. The Kid looks to her, eyes wide, questioning, but not rebuking. She lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses his fingers, his palms, presses that big, big hand to her cheek.

The Kid makes a quiet noise, then pulls her hand to his own mouth, brushes his lips across her slim fingers, the soft skin on the back of it. Rucks had taught her a little sign, not much, but enough to say a few words. He taught her one he didn’t name, just said, ‘When the time is right, you show it to that boy.’ He refused to explain more, and in Zia’s confusion, she had forgotten about it until now. She taps her fist to her chest three times, makes a circle around her heart, then taps the Kid on the chest twice. The Kid’s whole face lights up, and he does the same to her, his hand shaking as he does so. She squeezes his hand, presses her shoulder to his, and they watch the rest of the light show together like that.

The finale comes, and a large purple star explodes in the sky, bigger and brighter than all the rest. The last remnants of it fizzle below the horizon, and it’s not until the sky is completely dark again that they stand. They find Zulf and Rucks in the crowd and head over towards them.

‘Olwar was right,’ Rucks says, still staring into the sky. ‘That really was something that would knock our socks off.’

‘We certainly were lucky to land here on this night.’ Zulf looks to Zia and the Kid, and grins when he notices them holding each other’s hand. ‘Perhaps Yashe brought us here for just this reason.’

Zia and the Kid shrug. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was the Goddess. Either way, there certainly was something magical about this Festival of Lights. They head back into the town, Rucks and Zulf talking to each other with a surprising friendless, and Zia and the Kid traveling behind them, silent except the words the language of their hands speaks.


End file.
